Elizabeth White - Redeeming Gabriel

But instead of the clever adventuress he’d been hoping to meet, into the room had burst this little hoyden. She couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years old.

Mrs. St. Clair gently tapped her spoon against the fragile rim of her cup. “Tell me about your people, Reverend Leland.”

Gabriel stuck to a story he’d developed over the course of the past few years. “My father’s family are Louisiana indigo planters. My mother is a Faulkner from East Mississippi.”

“Indeed?” Mrs. St. Clair raised finely arched brows. “Perhaps my daughter, who lives in Columbus, is acquainted with the family.”

“Possibly. We’ve not visited there in several—” A strangled squeak from the granddaughter stopped him. “Miss St. Clair?” He stifled his impatience.

She mopped at a tea stain spreading across her lap. “I’m not Miss St. Clair,” she mumbled, pink-faced.

Gabriel frowned. Southern inbreeding had evidently taken its toll on the poor creature. She didn’t even know who she was.

“Camilla, the purpose of a saucer is to prevent such spills.” Amusement and affection laced Mrs. St. Clair’s admonition. “Reverend, I should explain that Camilla’s mother was my younger daughter. She is, perhaps unfortunately, a Beaumont rather than a St. Clair.”

That was when it hit him that he knew this family. Or knew of them. Beaumont. Harry Martin’s relatives. This must be the little cousin who had tagged along behind Harry and made his life miserable.

Then the girl’s expression captured his full attention. She was staring at him, mouth ajar.

For the first time, he really looked at her. His gaze went from the small capable hands clenched over the tea stain to her face. The broad, childish brow, pointed little chin, and curly hair gave her the look of a china doll. But the big caramel-colored eyes were defiant, much too knowing for a child. She recognized him. The truth began to whisper in his ear.

But how had he mistaken this underdeveloped waif for Delia Matthews?

He recovered. “Miss Beaumont, I hope I haven’t said anything to upset you. Do you know something about the Faulkner family that I don’t?”

Pink rose to her cheeks. “It’s just that you remind me of someone I met the other day. That is, you sound like him—your voice…”

So that was it. She was a sharp one, and he’d have to watch his step. “Indeed? But that’s simply not possible, as I’ve spent the past two days pursuing a rather delicate family matter.”

Mrs. St. Clair gave him an approving smile. “Most commendable to put family duty before taking on poor dearly departed Reverend Tunstall’s congregation. Is there some way in which we may be of help?”

Gabriel reluctantly gave his attention back to the older woman. “I doubt it, though I thank you. I’ve a female cousin who’s run off to join a troupe of riverboat actors. I’ve taken it upon myself to bring her back to the bosom of her family.” Camilla Beaumont’s brow puckered a little—at his mention of the riverboat? Or was it sympathy for his worry? “Forgive me, Miss Beaumont, if I’ve offended you by mentioning my cousin’s fallen state.”

She surprised him with bubble of laughter. “Mercy, I know what goes on on a riverboat. It must be rather humiliating, though, for a man of your calling to be forced to explore the nether regions of such a vessel.” The words were given a sarcastic undertone by a shrewd curling of her lips.

He met her dancing eyes and acknowledged her hit with a slight smile.

“Camilla, watch your tongue!” said her grandmother sharply. “Reverend, I believe I can help. Deplorable as it is, the soldiers spend large amounts of time and money on the riverboats, and my charitable work extends mostly in the hospitals and soldiers’ libraries. Camilla will take you around to visit the soldiers there, and you may easily make inquiries as to your cousin’s whereabouts.”

Camilla drew back, frowning. “Lady, you know I’ve got to finish the sandbags before the week is out. You could provide Reverend Leland with a letter of introduction—he’ll easily find his way around!”

“That hardly sounds neighborly,” said Mrs. St. Clair. “I’d go myself, but these old legs aren’t as spry as they used to be. The sandbags can wait.”

“But, Lady—”

“Miss Beaumont,” Gabriel interrupted smoothly, “I’d be honored if you’d consent to accompany me. Your charming presence could only promote my standing in the city.”

Camilla responded with a skeptical glare.

Mrs. St. Clair shook an arthritic finger. “And you’ll go with good grace, my girl, first thing next week.”

“All right.” Camilla jerked at the lace on her cuffs. “I’ll do it, but I don’t have to like it.”

Squeezed between her grandmother and her fourteen-year-old brother Schuyler in the family pew the next morning in church, Camilla watched Reverend Leland walk past, affecting a limp and leaning romantically on a Morocco cane. He stood in the aisle looking for a place to sit, until Lady called his name and invited him to sit with them.

He shook hands with Schuyler and her father, his smile grateful and a bit bashful. Oh, he knew how to charm them all.

She’d known somehow that he would be here today. His presence was entwined with God’s answer to her prayer, this stranger with the beautiful face and whiskey-smooth voice. It made her afraid and angry and all mixed up, sitting here beside him in church, even with Lady seated between them.

He was all kindness and sincerity on the outside, and Lady seemed to think he was God’s gift to the Christian community of Mobile. But he’d all but admitted he’d been on that boat, holding her close. And now he’d come after her.

Halfway through the service, she sneaked a glance at him. He was listening to Brother Lewis’s dull-as-ditchwater sermon with rapt attention. His dark hair was slicked back, the hard angles of his face piously composed, his shirt collar white and starched.

What was she supposed to do when he tried to get her alone? Yesterday he looked like he wanted to eat her for lunch…

As if he felt her gaze, Reverend Leland suddenly looked at her. The expression in his black eyes was warm, but she still felt chilled somehow.

God protect me from this man.

He smiled and returned his attention to the minister.

After the closing hymn, Camilla stepped away from him, but Lady snagged her elbow before she could slip out of the pew.

“Reverend Leland, I hope you’ll join us for dinner. Portia’s pork roast and mashed potatoes are famous all over the county.”

“I’d be delighted!” The reverend’s white smile was made more engaging by one tooth turned slightly crooked.

Determinedly unengaged, Camilla pulled at her arm.

Lady squeezed it harder. “Camilla will keep you company on the way.”

“I appreciate your hospitality.” The reverend’s eyes sparkled. “But I’m afraid I rode to church today. My horse might object to an extra passenger.” When Lady cackled, he smiled at Camilla. “However, I will claim a carriage ride at some time in the near future.”

“She will look forward to that with great pleasure.” Lady shooed Camilla toward the door. “We’ll go on ahead and see you as soon as you can get there.”

Sunday dinner in the Beaumont household was a prolonged affair, involving much conversation and laughter. Camilla watched Reverend Leland, seated across from her, flirt gently with her grandmother, filling Jamie’s absence with an agreeable mix of self-deprecation, humor and thoughtfulness. She had to admit he was fascinating in the way of a beautiful and dangerous animal.

Without compromising her own secrets, it was going to be difficult to prove Reverend Leland wasn’t what he purported to be. But there had to be some way.